


I'd always thought hurricanes were romantic

by lubilu17



Series: I Rebel; Therefore I Exist [3]
Category: Hamilton-Miranda
Genre: Alexanders cousin is also in it but idk his name, Angst, Hurricane, M/M, Suicide, There's like one Hamilton lyric in this, based off caw.chan's rebel AU, bc why not, its pretty obvious tbh, thats the graphic descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 07:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11664510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lubilu17/pseuds/lubilu17
Summary: Alexander was a storm. He would compare his thought process to the water, invading as it drips through the gaps in the roof, the way it pools on the floor building up to one large body of water, one large thought. His words were the wind building up waiting to attack whoever got in his way.





	I'd always thought hurricanes were romantic

**Author's Note:**

> Completely based off caw.chan's rebel AU from instagram, so credits to them.
> 
> This honestly fucked me up to write. But eh....enjoy....

Alexander was a storm, calm then raging, mood swinging in a couple of seconds. His thoughts attacked his brain like raindrops smashing against the ground. Like a storm he was a solitary child, only spending time with his mother and brother after his father walked out on the three of them. Unlike the rest of his family he enjoyed when it stormed on their small island, finding solace in the repetitive sound of rain broken by crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning. He would compare his thought process to the water, invading as it drips through the gaps in the roof, the way it pools on the floor building up to one large body of water, one large thought. His words were the wind building up waiting to attack whoever got in his way.

 

The sweat would pool in the hollow of his neck, the crease behind his knees, the palms of his hands, it would make pools on the floor. But he never felt hot. His skin felt like ice to the touch, much like his mother's. Whilst he looked like he could be alive, his mother looked like a corpse the only difference between the two being the light raise of his mother's chest that came from her laboured breathing. James was the only one out of the three who was able to work, able to make money, able to take care of his sick family members. Alex, looking back would have decided to help his brother work, make money, take care of their mother, maybe if he had gone to help James they'd have been able to raise enough money for just a small amount of medicine for their mother, maybe they'd have been able to save her, maybe Alex wouldn't have woken up in the cold embrace of his dead mother.

Silence. Then screams as loud as thunder pierced the air. Screams that made walls vibrate. Screams that were met with nothing. Silence.

A silence that broke the storm inside Alexander, releasing it to the world breaking dishes and ripping paper. A storm that was no longer a small rain shower but a fully fledged rain storm, ruining everything he held close.

 

They moved in with a cousin, a cousin the two brothers had never met. He'd leave the two alone as long as they'd let him back in the house early in the morning no matter what state he'd be in. Alexander's storm could be channeled into his writings, writing about everything and anything, ranging from fiction based of his cousins drunken ramblings to letters about his mothers last months to his father, none of which ever got sent. The pen against paper was repetitive, a constant for Alexander, grounding. It brought him back to himself every time he woke up feeling his mothers thin, cold arms wrapped around his waist in her final moments. He would often worry about whether or not she was scared to die or if she welcomed it as an escape from the pain of the fever. In the months after her passing whilst Alexander was still recovering himself he would go to sleep wondering whether or not he'd end up like his mother, dying in his sleep, last words being nothing that matter to anyone. He'd think he would welcome death, something to take away the numbness he felt. Is this how he died? 

The cousin would spend his days supposedly looking for work to support the two young boys, but nothing would come of his searches (if that was actually what he spent his time doing). He'd spend his evenings trying to forget his wife, his child, lost to him less than a year before Alex and James were sent to him, their photographs the only evidence the two ever existed. Alex had never asked where they were only knowing that his cousin was mourning for the two as much as Alex and James were for their mother. 

The moment the noise pierced the apartment was the moment Alexander knew something was wrong. It was loud, but it was nothing like the sound of someone in the house dropping something, it sounded like a firework. The thump that came immediately after was even more worrying. Creeping through the apartment, grabbing an umbrella as some form of protection if there was someone in the house, Alex stumbled across his brother trying to call somebody his hands stained red, the phone slipping out of his hands. Through the doorway was the body, it would have looked like his cousin was still sleeping apart from the gunshot wound in head, blood stained the pale wall behind the head. He could hear his brother hanging up the phone, then nothing.

Silence. Not even a ticking of a clock. There was no screaming this time. Just silence.

 

They survived, two brothers against the world. Two brothers surviving against all odds. Two brothers grown up too young. Then it was just one brother. The second off on a quest to find their lost father, to tell him of the news of their deceased family members. 

Alexanders rain storm raged into a thunderstorm deafening everyone with his words, words like hail stones. 

 

The first news of the hurricane broke only hours before it struck. People scrambled to escape the island, to save themselves, to save their children. Then it hit. Alex could only watch as trees, houses, roads were ripped from the ground crashing into everything in the area. A rain of water, stone fragments, skin and blood fell from the sky falling onto the ground, onto Alexander, burning his skin. A metallic taste filled Alexander's mouth as he was hit round the head by a small barrel from a nearby shop. The scent of the sea as it invaded the land assaulted Alexander's nose, crashes from collapsing buildings, cracks from broken trees, smashes from glass. Bodies line streets, crushed under ruined infrastructure. The scream of a mother curled over her bloodied infant. Blood covers stones, both on the floor and the walls. The winds whips Alexander's hair into his face, he sinks to his knees, eyes cast to the sky, hands clasped in a silent prayer to the gods. 

In the eye of the hurricane there was quiet, for just a moment, a yellow sky. He was silent, the screaming faded out of his mind. He was the image of the calm during the storm. It was silent as people were strewn around, it was silent as water soaked through Alexander's clothes, it was silent as leaves stuck to his skin. Then it truly was silent as everyone took in the damage. People who said that the screams of the dead were the most harrowing sound had never heard the silence that follow the screams.

Alexander wasn't a thunderstorm he was a tornado, quickly twisting his way through screams.

 

Alexander was nineteen when he moved to America, a new life for the young boy. Going to college had never been one of Alexander's goals in life before being sent to America but now he was there it was all he could think about, how to become better than he already was, how to honour his mother, his cousin, his brother, the people of his island.

Alexander was nineteen when he met Aaron Burr, it was a chance meeting in the alley behind a club that Alexander's friends had gotten him into. Aaron's head leant against the wall, one foot pressed against the stone, slowly taking a drag out of his cigarette, the smoke curling up into the darkness. The club had been too loud, too crowded, too hot for Alexander, he'd had to step outside, into the alley. Aaron had offered Alexander something too quiet the noise, both in the club and inside Alexander's head. 

Alexander still couldn't handle the silence. Silence means death.

 

At twenty Alexander met John Laurens, he had a habit of meeting new people at parties or clubs. The two had danced and laughed the night away, exchanging phone numbers at the end of the night. John had jerked his hand back from Alexander's as if jolted by electricity. 

 

At twenty Alexander met Thomas Jefferson in one of his classes. The man had opposed everything Alexander had said. They fought tooth and nail, Alexander, with his words whipping like the wind and Thomas with his words burning like flames. Thomas could calm the storm raging in Alexander's head back down to a rain shower.

They were fire and water, but yet they worked, they could rule each other up with their words but they could calm the other with their touch. Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson, fire and water, if they mixed created the perfect storm, a storm that damaged others around. A storm of which John Laurens was one of the victims.

Because Alexander Hamilton was not a rain shower, he was not a rain storm, he was not a thunderstorm, he was not a tornado. No, Alexander Hamilton was a hurricane, leaving only silence in his wake.


End file.
